Beauty and the Running Back (30 page)

“Mmm,” he mutters, noncommittally, “It’s true, I did only
swing by to train the new recruit at Cooper’s request. If I would have known
that
you
were the new
recruit, well...”

“Well what?” I ask, leaning my elbows on the island.

He glances over his shoulder at me, smiling. “Maybe I
wouldn’t have bought a return ticket, in the end.”

I’m torn between elation and trepidation. Best not force the
issue of what’s going to happen between us once my training is complete and
focus on the moment at hand. I watch as Emerson grills two delectable salmon
fillets, blanches some broccoli rabe, and prepares a small batch of pesto
pasta. The food smells amazing, the wine is fantastic, and I’m here with one of
my favorite people on earth. Today may have been a little bit rough, but it
sure is shaping up nicely. If I try real hard, I can pretend that this is what
my life is like every day, and forget that this is just a fleeting anomaly.

“Here we go,” Emerson says proudly, plating our food and
nodding toward the terrace. “Shall we?”

I follow him out onto the secluded patio with Roxie right on
my heels. We settle down at a little table beneath a canopy of string lights
and overgrown ivy. I know I shouldn’t get attached to this place, this feeling,
but I can’t help it. This is all so...perfect. And that’s even before I taste
the food.

“Oh my god...” I murmur, taking my first bite of perfectly
grilled salmon.

“Better than my risotto, even?” Emerson asks, helping
himself to his meal.

“I never would have thought it possible but, yes,” I
exclaim, savoring the taste.

“I kept up with the hobby,” he says modestly, “Spending a
bit of time in France certainly whipped my cooking skills into shape.”

“You lived in France?” I ask, wide-eyed.

“Oh yeah,” he nods, “France, England, Spain, even Finland
for a while.”

“Damn,” I whistle, “I’ve been in the same apartment since I
was eighteen.”

“Nothing wrong with having roots,” he replies.

“Yeah...” I murmur, thinking of my grandparents’ threat to
tear those roots right out from under me.

We savor our incredible meal, the fine wine, each other’s
company—and of course the delightful presence of Roxie. It’s shaping up to be a
pretty good first day at the new job after all, even if this is strictly
extra-curricular. The evening wears on, a couple more glasses of wine are poured,
and Emerson even manages to find a record we can both agree on—Iron and Wine,
an old favorite of ours. We retire back into the loft, and I meander about the
space at my leisure, taking in all the little details that make his house a
home.

“I’d offer you a grand tour,” Emerson says, watching me from
the center of the room, “But this is pretty much it.”

“What about in there?” I ask, nodding toward the bedroom
door.

“You trying to get a peek at my bedroom, Rowan?” he asks,
grinning.

“Maybe I am, Sawyer,” I shrug, “Unless you’re afraid of me
finding your Playboy stash or something.”

“This from the girl who kept a vibrator within arm’s length
through her entire adolescence,” he laughs, walking toward his room.

“I have needs, OK?” I exclaim, feigning defensiveness.

“Is that so?” he replies, his voice going raspy around the
edges as he pauses in the doorway of his bedroom.

The delicious wine has lowered both of our inhibitions, and
my body comes alive as I feel us transitioning into the more...
sensual
part of the
evening. We haven’t mentioned our steamy kiss from this weekend, yet, but we
seem to be coming back around to right where we left off. Emerson’s blue eyes
flash with desire as I step up to him, resting a hand on the firm panes of his
chest.

“You know about my needs better than anyone,” I say softly,
trailing my fingers down his cut, defined torso.

“Mmm. We’ll just have to see what we can do about them,
then,” he murmurs, catching my wrist. My eyes go wide as he draws my hand to
his full lips and takes the tip of my finger into his mouth. I feel his tongue
brush against my fingertip, remember what it felt like to feel his mouth
other
places...and break
off into his room, chest pounding.

It’s a small, simple space with high ceilings and a huge
king bed front and center. A sleek dresser and wide window round out the space,
and a few well-placed keepsakes make it feel like a sacred space. I trail my
fingers along the dresser, setting down my drained glass of wine. I’m just on
the far edge of tipsy, and my cares are swirling away by the second.

There are a few framed pictures on the dresser, and my
stomach turns to see an old wedding photo. It isn’t of our parents’ ridiculous
ceremony, of course, but I do recognize a much-younger Deb. This must be from
her first wedding to Emerson’s father, a man who looks remarkably like the one
standing next to me now. Deb looks so happy. Healthy, even. It breaks my heart
to think of what her life has become.

I tear my eyes away from the old picture and notice that a
second frame holds not a photograph, but a drawing. It only takes a split
second for me to recognize it, and as soon as I do, I feel my hand fly to my
lips. There, on Emerson’s dresser, is the sketch of him I drew when we were
kids, the one I gave to him on his eighteenth birthday. The drawing features
him in half-profile, looking serious and sure. I worked on this piece for
hours—days, even—before giving it to him in that seaside motel room. It’s been
preserved perfectly, lovingly, and for a spell I’m too moved to speak.

Two strong arms wrap around my waist from behind as I stare
at the picture of teenage Emerson, drawn by my very own hand. I clasp his hands
where they rest against my body, letting my head lean back against his chest.

“You kept it,” I whisper, turning my face toward his.

“Of course,” he murmurs, resting his cheek against the top
of my head. “That picture has traveled the world with me. I’ve kept it in every
home I’ve ever lived in, from my little apartment in Philly to my flat in
London. Every time I get to thinking that I don’t deserve my success, that I’m
just some punk kid who’s pulling one over on the rest of the world, I just look
at this picture. It’s always reminded me that there’s someone in the world who
thinks I’m strong, and worthy. Someone who loved me, once.”

“Loves you,” I whisper, turning to face him, “Not loved.
Loves
. Present tense.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the teacher this week,” he
murmurs, running his hands down the sides of my body. “What are you doing
giving me a grammar lesson?”

“Oh, I think we both still have plenty to teach each other,
Emerson,” I say, taking his scruffy, sculpted face in my hands.

“You mean it, then?” he asks, grabbing hold of my slender
hips. “You...you still...?”

“I love you, Emerson,” I whisper, letting those blue eyes
swallow me whole. “I always have. I always will.”

“Thank god,” he grins, pulling me to him, “‘Unrequited’
isn’t a good shade on me.”

“You mean...” I breathe.

“I love you too, Abby,” he says, “But right now, I need you
too much to waste another second talking about it.”

“Fine by me,” I murmur.

I throw my arms around Emerson’s shoulders as he brings his
lips to mine. He scoops me up into his arms as his powerful jaw works my mouth
wide open. I clasp my ankles around his tapered waist, and he bears my weight
as if it were nothing. His tongue glides against mine, caressing it, as he
spins me around in the air, laying me out flat across his king bed. He lowers
his staggering body to mine, encompassing me, subsuming me. I can feel his every
muscle ripple as we move together, a tangle of limbs and lust. I bury my
fingers in his hair, letting my tongue sweep against his as his hands roam down
the length of my body.

He tastes exactly the same, beneath the fine red wine. But
while our bodies find the same easy syncopation we’ve always known, there’s
more sureness and grace in our motion. Emerson was all raw power at eighteen,
but now? He’s totally comfortable in his body, assured and knowledgeable. His
every muscle is a tightly coiled spring of power and finesse. I’ve been craving
his touch for eight years, but I never could have guessed how good it could
possibly feel to have it again.

There’s no preciousness in our desire, now. No need for
things to be right or perfect. We just need each other, in the rawest, most
carnal way. We tear at each other’s clothing, ripping off layers and tossing
them across the room. I rake my nails across the firm planes of his body—his
rippling back, his impossibly cut torso—as he grabs hold of whatever part of me
he can. In a matter of minutes, our naked bodies are pressed together on his
king bed, our skin flushed with want, our mouths insatiable.

“I almost forgot this,” I whisper, tracing the outline of
his sparrow tattoo as he kneels above me. His cock is rock hard, throbbing at
its full, massive best. I bring my hands eagerly to that pulsating length,
shivering with delight as I wrap my fingers around his shaft. His eyes close as
I work my hands along the full stretch of him, my thumbs tracing along the ridge
of his swollen head. “Almost forgot this, too,” I grin.

“Yeah?” he growls, catching my wrists and pinning them over
my head, “Well, let me remind you of a few other things, while we’re at it.”

His eyes rake down along the length of my naked body. My back
arches as if his very gaze is caressing me. I let my knees fall open as he
brings his lips to the hollow of my throat, leaving searing kisses all along my
skin. He lowers himself to me as he moves his mouth over my body, letting me
feel the tip of him brush against my wet slit.

“You’re so ready for me,” he growls, pressing his cock
forward by just a hair as he kneads my tits with capable hands. He pinches my
nipples just hard enough, and I cry out as the first thundering shockwave of
pleasure runs through me.

“Christ,” I breathe, my eyes wide with wonder, “You know
exactly how to touch me.”

In reply, he lowers his lips to my nipple. Keeping his eyes
on mine, he takes that hard peak into his mouth, rubbing against it with the
tip of his tongue. I gasp as his fingers skirt down my lean torso and find my
wet, aching sex. Sucking and biting at my tits, he traces his fingers along the
slick length of me, working farther into me with every pass before he finally,
gloriously, lays two strong fingers against my hard, throbbing clit.

My head falls back against the pillows as he bites my
nipple, tracing firm, quick circles over that tender nub between my legs. I
grab onto huge handfuls of bedding, forcing myself to breathe as he rolls his
fingers over my clit, faster and harder with every moment. My knees begin to
tremble as I dig my nails into his back, holding on for dear life.

“Right there,” I moan, as he flicks and kneads that pulsing
bundle. “God, that’s good.”

“You think
that’s
good?” he growls, catching a handful of my blonde hair in his hand and turning
me to face him. The sudden jolt of force coupled with his expert touch between
my legs nearly makes me come right then and there. “Just wait...”

He gives me a swift, hard kiss, working my jaw open and
letting his tongue sweep deeply into my mouth. I wrap my arms around his neck,
shuddering on the edge of orgasm as he bears down on my clit.

“I’m so close,” I whisper.

“How close?” he growls in my ear, forcing my knees further
apart with his.

“So...so...” I gasp, my eyes screwing up in bliss. I teeter
on the edge, ready to tumble.

But the room spins around as Emerson grabs hold of my hips,
flips me roughly onto my stomach. Shock and illicit delight confound me as I
look back at him over my shoulder. There’s a savage hunger burning in his blue
eyes as he kneels over me from behind, letting me feel his enormous cock
against the tight, forbidden circle of my ass. For just a moment, I think I
know where we’re headed, but again he surprises me.

Pulling me forcefully onto my hands and knees, Emerson runs
his fingers into the firm rise of my ass. I arch my back, knowing how much he
loves to drink in the sight of me wild with needing him. With a low, guttural
growl, he tugs me back toward him, lowering his mouth to my sex. My mouth falls
open in amazement as he pushes against my flesh, parting me before him from
behind. The illicit thrill is almost too much, which makes it just enough to
drive me absolutely crazy.

I savor the sensation of his tongue tracing all along my
slit, licking me from behind. The very next moment, I feel the tip of his
tongue against my raw, tender clit. I buck against him as he has his fill of
me, licking up every drop of my desire as he works that hard button. I barrel
toward the edge of bliss, blinded by the force of it. My screams echo around
the small room as Emerson wraps his lips around my clit and gives it one last
forceful suck.

I’m done for.

With an elated scream, I come hard into his waiting mouth.
My limbs shudder with the force of the orgasm that rolls wildly through me,
lighting up every nerve ending with unprecedented sensation. Emerson drinks me
up, unable to get enough, until I’m absolutely spent. I turn to look back at
him, dizzy and amazed. In the throbbing aftermath of my bliss, I can only think
of one thing.

“I need you to fuck me, Emerson,” I breathe, on my hands and
knees before him. “I need to feel you inside of me. Now.”

“As if I could wait another second,” he growls, taking my
face in his and kissing me deeply. I can taste myself on his tongue, and
shudder with delighted anticipation.

With his mouth on mine, he lifts my body and presses me hard
against his wooden headboard. I grab on tight as he moves behind me, flattening
me against the sturdy surface. There’s just enough time for me to take a breath
as he produces a condom from the bedside table, tears the package open with his
teeth, and rolls it down his throbbing shaft. I brace myself, lifting my ass to
Emerson as I feel him poised behind me, his hard chest heaving with
anticipation.